


patchwork

by adoesetfree



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Brotherhood, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, Introspection, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, also Macavity is pretty young here, in this AU Munkustrap is the eldest brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoesetfree/pseuds/adoesetfree
Summary: In his early childhood, Macavity’s dislike of Munkustrap had been an uncultivated thing: it was not shaped by the bitterness of their father’s neglect, nor by the jealousy of his favoritism. Yet.Or,Munkustrap, a young Macavity, and those first seeds of hate.
Relationships: Macavity & Munkustrap (Cats)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	patchwork

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and still kind of like it, so figured why not post it? I'd probably write it a bit differently now but it's fine as it is.
> 
> This is a snippet of a much larger AU I had in mind that'll never see the light of day. In this AU Munkustrap, Macavity, and the Rum Tum Tugger are all siblings, with Munkustrap being the eldest, then Macavity, then Tugger. They all share a father, of course, but only Macavity and Tugger share a mother. But that's all neither here nor there, just figured it might be useful trivia to take into consideration while reading.
> 
> Edgies DNI, this is not the Dark AU you're looking for. Everyone else, enjoy!

In his early childhood, Macavity’s dislike of Munkustrap had been an uncultivated thing: it was not shaped by the bitterness of their father’s neglect, nor by the jealousy of his favoritism, but by simple childish prejudices. Even then the plain, orderly monotony of Munkustrap had irked him, grating on his senses like the scrape of slate. The dark stripes that distinguished his coat were dizzying to Macavity’s eyes, warping and dancing under his gaze in unnatural ways; if he were to ever look upon them for too long then those stripes would follow him for the rest of his day, imprinted in his mind and lingering atop his sight like shadows.

His unwaking hours were equally affected: in his dreams his elder brother’s pale, silver eyes would fade even further, until they were empty sockets in his face. This wraith who took his brother’s form would kneel at the end of his bedding, its missing eyes boring into him all night long, and Macavity would be left with no choice but to stare back into their absence, paralyzed. He always woke from these dreams with tears blurring his vision, his body tense enough to ache.

He never told anyone of the jagged-edged stripes that followed him like unwanted imaginary friends, nor of the empty-eyed Munkustrap of his dreams. Even at such a young age Macavity understood that these things were not _real_ , and that to bare these childish horrors to the rest of the tribe would only further set him apart from them. Of all the Jellicles, he alone did not worship their silver-shining prince.

His earliest memory of Munkustrap is a patchwork thing, made up of scenes that are either startling in their clarity or recalled through a haze of fog.

Here is what is hazy: They had been out hunting— he, Munkustrap, and their father. It was one of the first of such excursions for Macavity, and he had loved everything about it— the stealth it took, the persistence, even the wait.

Here is what is clear: The thrill of finally catching his first prey— a large white dove. Macavity still remembers the sink-and-catch of his claws in it’s breast, the taste of feather and blood on his tongue, that strange and sudden _snick_ as its neck gave way beneath the force of his jaws—

(For all his long wait, through the tracking and stalking and homing, it was over as quick as that _snick_. Macavity’s heart was left racing, his blood pumping so hard he could feel it in his temples. Colors seemed brighter, breathing easier, the air headier on his tongue, like spring air and iron.

He had his first taste that day of two things he would later come to love and value: delayed gratification, and the art of killing.)

Hazy: His father and brother running towards him, beaming and congratulatory. A first kill was almost a rite of passage amongst the Jellicles, a byproduct of their more primitive days: it was proof that a cat could survive on their own, and Macavity had shown exceptional skill.

Hazy, still: Munkustrap kneeling before him. Macavity no longer remembers his brother’s face in that moment, but he imagines it was kind. He does not remember his voice, either, but it was surely soothing, melodic.

Clear as a cloudless sky: Munkustrap, leaning closer to him. Macavity, only seeing his eyes, which are far, far too pale and _empty_. Fear filling his gut because it is his nightmares come to life.

More likely it was the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the same thing that made everything seem brighter, stronger, more alive. Munkustrap, banal as he was, would not have been exempt from this effect. But Macavity did not know this, and in his fright had hunched his back and hissed, swiping his claws clean across his brother’s left eye and darting to hide within the thick brush nearby.

(Claws, no matter the age of a Jellicle, are sharp and deadly. Munkustrap had cried out in pain despite his steady strength. This, too, is clear.)

Hazier is Old Deuteronomy fishing him out of the brush, face troubled and confused. When he found Macavity, curled into a ball and shaking like a leaf, the troubled confusion washed away, replaced by his famed paternal affection. He had nuzzled and groomed Macavity until he calmed enough to uncurl, and then carried his son back to the Yard.

There is one last piece of clarity: The look on Munkustrap’s face as he trailed behind them, Macavity bundled over their father’s shoulder and still trembling. How he stared at Macavity. His expression had not been uncharitable, but it was not _kind_ , either. It was something flat, and blank around the edges. Suspicion, maybe, or caution. It was the first and most mild of the looks Munkustrap would level at him for the rest of his life.

It was also the first time Macavity’s dislike had shifted into something more like _hatred_.

Munkustrap could not open his eye for a week after that. It took longer still for the vessels within the eye to heal, and for the silver fur surrounding it to grow back and cover the long, thin lines of pink skin. During those weeks his left eye stood in stark contrast to his right, no longer silver but bloodshot red.

Macavity thought it looked better that way.


End file.
